


Céleste Café

by MayaAodhan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cookies, Destiel Christmas Minibang, M/M, cafe!SupernaturalAU, chocolat inspired, dcminibang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5310791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaAodhan/pseuds/MayaAodhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a quiet town in Kansas called Lawrence. If you lived in this town, you understood what was expected of you. You knew your place in the scheme of things and if you happened to forget, someone would help to remind you. <br/>In Lawrence, if you saw something you weren’t supposed to see, you learned to look the other way. If you had been disappointed, you learned never to ask for more. So in good times and in bad, the townsfolk held fast to their traditions. <br/>Until one wintery day, a sly wind blew in from the north.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love the movie Chocolat. I decided to replace Chocolate with cookies. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> The artwork for this is done by @hellosupernatural on Tumblr. Updates soon!
> 
> Trigger warning - homophobia from Castiel's father and unnamed townsfolk. It does turn violent. Please, if this makes your heart ache too much to read, please don't.

There was a quiet town in Kansas called Lawrence. If you lived in this town, you understood what was expected of you. You knew your place in the scheme of things and if you happened to forget, someone would help to remind you. 

In Lawrence, if you saw something you weren’t supposed to see, you learned to look the other way. If you had been disappointed, you learned never to ask for more. So in good times and in bad, the townsfolk held fast to their traditions. 

Until one wintery day, a sly wind blew in from the north.

 

Taking his lunch in the tiny park opposite his practice, Doctor Castiel Novak tipped his face up to enjoy the fragile remnants of the early autumn sun. Icy fingers trailed across his skin with every trembling zephyr that swept across the park and he shivered. He heard the rumbling sound of a car engine with more horses than sense disturbing the peace of his lunchtime ritual and looked that way. The big black beast of a car slid into a spot in front of the abandoned bakery that had been ‘for sale’ for the past five years. 

Two men climbed out. The taller stretched up, his hands linked above his head. He looked young, with dark brown hair that was a little longer than Castiel was used to seeing on a man in small town Kansas. His clothing fit the part: layered flannel and khaki, the jeans were well worn and the boots solid. But there was something polished about him. 

The other man was shorter, dressed in green checked flannel over a grey henley. He thrust his arms into battered army surplus coat that looked buttersoft even at this distance. He reached up and yanked off a pair of sunglasses while he stared up at the vacant building. Castiel couldn’t hear what the two men said to each other, but the laugh of the shorter one drifted across the green expanse of grass. It made his stomach tilt. 

A second car pulled in a few minutes later and the guys shook the woman’s hand as she stepped out. She wore a suit and clutched an expensive looking clipboard as she unlocked the door of the bakery and beckoned the two men follow her. 

Castiel checked his watch and groaned. His lunch break was almost done and he had to get back, his patients no doubt harassing his receptionist about his return. He hoped a bakery might be in the offing for Lawrence. It was something desperately needed. At least, according to his unfulfilled sweet tooth, and no doubt that of his brother, Gabe. 

He picked up his satchel and slung it over his shoulder. 

As he crossed the street and walked past the big black car, the front door of the bakery opened. The shorter man stepped out of the gloom of the doorway, his hands tucked into his jeans pockets. His sunglasses were around his neck. 

“Hey.” The voice was a Texan drawl. Castiel lifted his gaze from the man’s chest to his eyes. Green. A green that danced with amusement. And dear God, he was good looking. A sudden swirl of warmth coiled in his chest. 

“Good morning,” Castiel replied hurriedly, realising he was standing, staring, like a complete goober. 

“Dean Winchester.” The newcomer held out a hand, and it hovered between them. 

Castiel stared down at the broad palm, hesitating before taking it in his. “Welcome to Lawrence, Mister Winchester.” 

“Thanks.” Dean shook his hand firmly, and his hand was warm. Solid. Strong. 

The accompanying grin made Castiel need to swallow hard. He yanked back his hand and nodding briefly before striding hurriedly off. 

 

“Who’s the guy?” Sam asked as he joined his brother on the sidewalk. 

“No idea. Kind of quirky, weird little guy. Not often you see trench coats on someone under the age of sixty.” Dean studied the retreating figure. 

“Oh yes, that’s Doctor Novak.” The real estate agent joined them after locking the door. Her lips were thin with disapproval. “His family are very devoutly religious. The father is minister of one of the local churches.”

“Huh.” Dean considered Castiel a moment longer before turning back to the agent. “Well, thanks for showing us the property. We will let you know.” 

They shook hands and the woman departed. 

“What do you think, Sammy?” 

“I don’t know, Dean.” Sam peered around them. “You sure you want to leave San Francisco for this place?” 

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. I have a good feeling about it.”

“It’s cold in winter.” 

“Put on an extra sweater, moose.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean swept the floor, enjoying the simple task. Sam was upstairs shifting stuff around in the apartment while Dean cleaned up a little downstairs to see what was what. The layer of dust on the floor had to go, along with the drift of leaves from an open back window. 

The front door was flung open letting the fresh late afternoon air cleanse the musty interior of the long enclosed shop. Dean could feel it. The possibilities, the tingling at the back of his neck, that tangible sense that something needed just the right touch in the right place. That Lawrence, Kansas needed his cooking. 

Later, as he wiped a cleaning rag over the streaky, soaped front window, he was distracted by a passing figure. It was the guy from yesterday, probably heading home at this hour. The cute, blue eyed doctor that had stammered into silence. Dean grinned. He knocked his fist against the glass. 

The startled blue eyes swung in his direction, face suddenly pale. 

Dean waved his hand. 

Castiel blinked, almost stumbling. 

Dean headed for the open doorway and leaned against the frame. “Hey. You are Doctor Novak, right?” 

Castiel hesitated as though he would hurry his step past, ignoring Dean. “Hello, Mister Winchester.”

“Just call me Dean.” 

“Hello, Dean.” His voice was rough and serious and it intrigued the hell out of Dean. “My name is Castiel.” 

Dean tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “How was your day?” 

“I …” Castiel tilted his head in curiosity. “Why do you want to know how my day was?” 

“Making conversation.” Dean’s eyes sparkled brilliantly with hidden laughter. “We exchanged greetings, now we ask each other how our day was.” 

“Ah.” Castiel gave a single nod. “I see. I’m sorry. People don’t usually ask how my day was.” 

Dean was startled. “Really? Why not?” 

Castiel frowned minutely, dropping his gaze to stare at the peeling paint beside Dean’s shoulder, flaking against the soft cotton of his shirt. “I’m a doctor…and a Novak. I suppose most people believe that I will start preaching at them if they speak to me.” 

“Is that somethin’ that is likely to happen?” Dean arched a brow. 

Castiel shook his head. “No. My father is the minister. I’m just … me.” He rubbed the palm of his hand against his opposite arm. 

“Well, I’m not worried you are going to preach at me.” Dean winked, enjoying the faintest flush that coloured Castiel’s cheek. “So, your day?” 

“Fine, thank you.” Castiel glanced at his cleaning efforts. “Are you opening a bakery?” 

“A cafe. My brother is helping me get set up.” 

He watched an intriguing expression flicker across Castiel’s face. It was like, a slight relaxing. Was he relieved? 

“Cookies are my weakness,” Castiel confided after a brief hesitation. 

“Then I will certain to bake several varieties.” 

Blue eyes met green with an expression of such sweet surprise, Dean opened his mouth with the intent of asking Castiel in for coffee.

The sound of a car horn startled them both. 

“Castiel.” The call was harshly intoned. 

Castiel stepped hurriedly away from the cafe and its rather intriguing owner. 

“My brother, Michael.” Castiel murmured as an austere, blonde haired man opened the driver’s side door. 

“I will give you a lift home,” Michael said flatly, brooking no refusal with his tone. His sharp blue eyes bored into Dean’s, daring him to reply. 

Dean just leaned against the doorframe again, and merely nodded a greeting at the newcomer. 

“See you tomorrow, Cas.” 

Castiel spared him a glance and the faintest quirk of a smile before he headed for the car. He slipped into the passenger seat, Michael seating himself as well. 

Dean watched the guy’s shoulder draw up in silent self defence. He couldn’t see the brother, but no doubt Cas was copping an earful if his tense body language was any indication. 

Dean rose his hand as the car pulled away from the curb, with no idea if Cas had seen his farewell.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“You were meant to come straight home,” Michael said harshly, hands gripping the steering wheel. 

Castiel gave an internal sigh, because an external one would have angered his eldest sibling. “I am not twelve any more, Michael. If I recall correctly, I had my thirtieth birthday a couple of years ago.”

“Stay away from that … that… bakery.” Michael bit out, ignoring Castiel’s reminder of age. 

“What?” Castiel frowned. “Why?” 

“Just … don’t speak to that man again.” 

Castiel put his hand to his forehead and pressed against the throb starting there. “I was just talking to him. I had no wish to be rude. That’s all.” 

“Father won’t see it like that, and you know it.” 

“Can I not speak to any man, ever?” Castiel snapped suddenly. “Am I to be forever banned from human interaction with members of my gender?” 

Michael blew out an impatient breath. “I just…I want you to be careful, Castiel. Father sees you speaking with a man who looks like that and he will immediately jump to the wrong conclusions. And you will have to do penance again.” 

Castiel’s shoulder ached with phantom pain. He stared out of the window, willing the sudden burn behind his eyes to dissipate. Michael was correct. Dean Winchester was forbidden.

 

The following week, the town was fascinated by the changes being wrought in the dingy bakery that had been owned by a cantankerous couple who retired to Florida five years ago. Workers and delivery drivers were seen carting old furniture away, and new, shiny equipment was brought in. Fresh coats of paint slicked the walls, interior and exterior. The original brown shopfront was brightened by a robins egg blue. Glass shelving was put into the window. The walls inside were a lovely warm buttery yellow. The huge old display case was gone and a small counter with a register waited for first order. The tile floors were now polished wood. 

The work didn’t end when the sun set. At night, the townsfolk swore they saw the two brothers shifting furniture, hanging pictures, setting mismatched cups onto display shelves behind a new counter. New, warm lighting glowed out onto the street, and if anyone approached to express curiosity either of the brothers would invite them in with a warm grin and show them around. 

All in all, it was a business to be excited about. 

When a signwriter pulled up and mounted a beautifully hand painted sign onto the wall beside the door, there were more whispers. ‘Céleste Café’? A quick google search by the more enterprising had the meaning. ‘Heavenly’? There were more than a few raised eyebrows and smirks. No doubt Minister Novak would have something to say about _that_. 

 

Dean slid the last tray of freshly baked goods into position on the display case. It had been Sam’s idea, putting the case in the front windows. It was 6:30 on a Saturday morning. The morning they had decided was perfect for opening. Advertisements had gone all over town, but Dean had sworn it was word of mouth that had people waiting by 6:45 outside. Curiosity first and foremost, and like all small towns, the willingness to watch a show. He had smiled and waved through the glass. They were ready. He glanced back at Sam, who nodded. 

Dean flung open the door early. 

“Come in! You must be freezing out there.” He toed the tiny cast iron doorstop into place.

First was Ms Moseley, her gorgeous curling hair piled high on her head. She studied Dean with an imperious expression, and he straightened his posture automatically, as though being examinedwith the sharp eyes of a high school teacher. “This is different,” she drawled, before looking around at the pen and ink drawings on the walls. 

“Would you like a seat out front here, or in back near the fireplace?” 

“You have a fireplace?” Her voice dropped in wonder. 

Dean smiled. “Yes, ma’am. Cleaned it up and got it tested, right as right. Warms the back room a treat.” 

“Sounds good to me, young man.” 

“I’m Dean. And that is my brother, Sam.” 

“I know who you are, boy.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Go on with you. I can seat myself.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Dean lead Ms Moseley into the back room while Sam took the next customer. He tugged out a comfortable chair beside a battered old table covered by a clean white linen cloth. 

“Thank you.” Ms Moseley seated herself. “Now what can you recommend?” 

“What would you like?” 

“Tea. And something savoury.” 

“Trust me?” Dean grinned at her. 

She narrowed her eyes. “Go ahead then.” 

Dean headed back to the main room to see four tables occupied, he grinned at his sibling as he pulled down a tea pot from its shelf. 

“I think it’s going to be a good day.” He slapped Sammy on the back. “A good, good day.” 

 

It was late afternoon and they were almost closed. Dean sat at one of the front tables, mug of coffee in hand, enjoying the respite. Sam was out shopping with the intent of restocking their refrigerator upstairs. 

A figure Dean hadn’t seen in near a week was moving with hunched shoulders, against the chill air in a thin coat barely of use this close to winter. Dean frowned and leaping up, he headed for the front door. 

“Hey, Cas!” 

At first he thought the man would hurry on, ignoring him. He could see it in the sudden stiffening of the spine, the clutch of his hands on the strap slung across his torso. But then there was the hesitation and those brilliant blue eyes he had thought about far too often met his. He couldn’t work out the emotion in them, but it sent a churn of concern through his gut. Something was wrong there. 

“Good afternoon, Dean.” The dark head nodded once in greeting. 

“Feel like coming in for a coffee?” 

That hesitation again. And something that was like want masked by duty. “I cannot. I am sorry.” 

“That’s cool.” Dean shrugged easily, keeping his smile friendly. “Wait here, one second.”

Even though Castiel shifted from one foot to another, he waited. Dean rejoined him a few moments later and held out a white paper bag. Castiel frowned in confusion, looking at the package in confusion, then back up at Dean. 

“What is this?” 

“Your favourite.” Dean pressed them into his hands. 

“I shouldn’t.” 

“Probably.” Dean smiled. “They will make you want to come back for more.” 

Castiel stared down at his hands again. “Thank you. How much-?

“Nothing.” Dean shook his head. “Consider it a favour.” 

Castiel stiffened. “What do you mean?” 

“Try them and tell me if you like them? I haven’t put them on the shelves yet.” 

Castiel released a shaky breath. “Thank you, Dean.” 

“You’re welcome, Cas. Have a good night, okay?” 

Castiel just nodded, clutched the bag to his chest and headed off. Dean stood with his hands tucked into the pockets of his flour dusted jeans and watched him go. 

 

Castiel waited until he was almost home before opening the gift. Two cookies, slightly crumbled by his tense grip. He sniffed. They were lemony and rich. He hesitated, and cursed himself. Diving in, he selected the first cookie and brought it to his lips. The texture crumbled into his mouth, then melted. An intriguing effect. The lemon was subtle. He closed his eyes and nibbled again. 

As he ate, the memory of the last time he was truly content flooded back. He had passed med school at the University of Missouri in Kansas City. He was a doctor. He had an internship at a hospital in Chicago, secretly applied for without his family’s knowledge. He was packed. He wasn’t even going to go home. He didn’t want to go home. 

He was sitting in a park, the letter of offer in his hands. And he was free. He remembered the spring sunshine. He remembered the shouts of families. He was happy. He was smiling. 

“So what, or rather who, put that smile on your face?” The voice interrupted his reverie. 

Castiel’s attention snapped back. Gabriel stood in front of him, an indulgent grin on his quirky features, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

Castiel’s jaw clenched and he smoothed his expression. “Nothing. No one.” 

“Ooo, cookies.” Gabriel prodded the bag. “Can I have one?” 

Castiel wanted to say no. Wanted to clutch the bag to himself. Wanted… He stopped. This was Gabe. He couldn’t refuse Gabe. He held out the bag. 

Gabriel fished out the cookie and popped it into his mouth all at once. Castiel wanted to shout at him. Tell him stop. He clenched his fists. 

“Ooo. Damn.” Gabriel’s eyes widened. “These’re awesome.” He studied the plain bag. “Where’d you get these?” He asked around a mouthful of mushed crumbs. 

“Céleste.” He gave it the French inflection. 

Gabriel grinned broadly. “Ahh, yes, the charming Winchester boys.” He leaned close. “The elder one is particularly tasty, yes?” 

“He isn’t a dessert, Gabriel,” Castiel snapped, and closed his eyes, gentling his voice. “Stop. Please.” 

Gabriel was silent. 

Castiel opened his eyes again and looked at his uncharacteristically serious brother. 

“I’m not going to tell Dad,” Gabriel said quietly. “I”m not a snitch like Mike. You know that, Cassie.” He reached out and gripped Castiel’s arm through his trench coat. “I wish -“ 

“Stop,” Castiel said hoarsely, yanking his arm away from Gabe’s grasp. “Don’t wish anything.” 

“It’s been eight years, Cassie.”

“Stop.” It was a whisper now. 

“Why not go? He’s never going to change.” 

Castiel rose a shaking hand to his brow. “Leave me be, Gabe. Just leave me be.” Lowering his gaze to the ground, he strode quickly for the house, leaving Gabe in his wake. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Coffee. Black.” The old guy scowled at Dean. “None of those fancy flavours.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir. Can I get you something to eat?” Dean studied the broad, florid features, the salt and pepper hair heading toward sparse and the solid body. The guy looked like a farmer. Or a mechanic. His hands were broad, solid and rough to match and he splayed them on the counter. 

“Did I ask for something to eat, you idjit?” 

“No, sir.” Dean’s lips twitched. “I will bring it to your table.” 

“Whatever. How much?” 

“Two dollars.” 

The guy slapped two singles on the counter and headed to a table. He slouched down in his seat. 

“Here you are, sir.” 

“Just call me Bobby, boy. Unless this coffee is crap.” There was a moment of silence as Bobby took a sip. He rumbled a soft sound. “Yeah. Just call me Bobby.” 

“I’m Dean. Welcome to Céleste.”

“Fancy damn name.” 

Dean wiped his hands on his apron. “Ever really really craved a cup of coffee just at that perfect temperature. Then you get it. That first sip is perfection?” 

Bobby made a sound that sounded like agreement. 

“Well, that’s heaven to me.” Dean grinned. 

“Gonna get in trouble for that ‘round here.” 

Dean just shrugged. “I can handle myself.” 

“Hey there, handsome.” A female voice drawled from the doorway. 

Dean glanced up. “Hey, Ellen.” The woman had been in a couple of times. She smiled at Dean, but fixed her eyes on Bobby, flicking her long, dark blonde hair over her shoulder, the dusky pink of her scrubs clean and pressed. “Good morning, Bobby.” 

“What’s so good about it?” he muttered.

“You are alive and upright, you grumpy old sot.” Ellen headed for the counter. “White with one to take away, Dean, my love.”

Dean ignored the dangerous scowl Bobby sent him and headed for the espresso machine. 

“How’s life treatin’ you, Ellen?” Dean asked conversationally, with a sidelong glance at Bobby, as he measured new grounds into the press and set a mug underneath the drip.

“No complaints at all. With Thanksgiving in a couple weeks, I can just feel something good in the air, y’know?” 

“Yeah, Sammy and I are looking forward to it.” Dean steamed the milk with a steady, practiced hand. 

“It gets real pretty ‘round here leading up to Christmas. They put up all those decorations on Main Street. We get a couple layers of snow and it’s like a Christmas card.” 

“It’s cold as balls is what is is,” Bobby snarled, drinking down his coffee and slamming the cup onto the table he got up, rammed a battered and stained snapback onto his head and stalked out. 

Ellen snorted. “He’s an ass. And a grump. Don’t you go worrying about Bobby.” 

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Dean slid the cup across the table as Ellen set the money on the counter. 

“Thanks, darlin’.” 

Dean didn’t miss the wistful glance Ellen cast at the door as it jingled and closed in Bobby’s wake. 

 

“What’s your game, boy?” Ms Moseley stood in the middle of the cafe just past midday and scowled at Dean. 

Dean was returning clean mugs to their display shelves. He glanced over his shoulder at the woman, surprised that she had entered without a sound. He looked at the door. It was closed. He looked back at Ms Moseley. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am?” He turned, a look of polite enquiry on his face. 

“Don’t give me that.” She rose a finger and pointed it at Dean. “You some kind of con artist?” 

“What?” He was shocked, and it showed. He splayed his hands on the counter. He grew a little angry. “I am nothing of the sort and resent being called…” 

She held up a hand to stay his protest. He went silent and they eyed each other over the counter. With a note of challenge in her voice, she said. “A pot of the same tea from yesterday. It was …unusual.” 

“Yunnan tea.” Dean pulled down a tea pot. 

“And do bring me something…sweet from the shelves. Your pick.” 

He glanced at her, wary. But she just pulled out a chair beneath a pen and ink drawing of the Golden Gate Bridge. She folded her hands while he prepared her order. He brought it over on a tray, maintaining his silence as he set out the various items. 

Ms Moseley pursed her lips. When he stepped back, she studied his selection. This time a dark chocolatey looking slice sat innocently on a plate. Coils of frosted lime rind perched on the smooth icing. She ignored it for the time being while she prepared the tea. 

Dean went back to tidying. 

The sound of the tea pouring into the fine china was loud in the cafe. 

Ms Moseley refused to break the silence, and he refused to look at her. But he knew deep in his gut when she picked up the tiny fork and sampled the slice. The dark chocolate, slightly bitter, and spiced with an infusion of chilli, the lime tart and sweet with its dusting of sugar. 

He finished the mugs and picked up a clean cloth to wipe down the already clean tables. He needed something to do. Ms Moseley studied him, intelligent eyes watching him thoughtfully. 

“You may call me Missouri.” 

“Ma’am.” He straightened, startled as she had once again silently approached and he hadn’t noticed. His hands twisted in the cloth. 

“You have a gift alright.” She reached up, and placed her broad, warm palm gently on his face. “Got it from your mama I would guess.” She tsk’d. “Look at those beautiful eyes.” She lowered her hand. “Be careful, Dean. I know your heart is in the right place, but some times these things go awful bad.” She gave him a warm smile. “But thank you for that slice. It hit the spot just nicely.” She gave him a significant look. “What do you I owe you for it?” 

Dean didn’t even hesitate. “On the house, ma’am…” he paused and tried again. “Missouri.” 

She gave a dry chuckle. “Astute and adorable.” 

He walked to the door and held it open for her, a blush on his cheek. As she drew level with him, she looked up with a small frown. “Be careful with him.” 

“With who?” 

“The youngest Novak. He’s a beautiful soul, but has been so hurt by his family.”

“I won’t…” His blush deepened.

“You won’t intend to,” she said softly. “But I don’t want to see him heart broken when the wind changes.” 

He dropped his gaze from hers.

“Ahh, I dug too deep.” Missouri shook her head. “I apologise. That was rude. Still, the warning stands.” 

Dean clutched the door for a long while after Missouri left, staring into nothingness as thoughts crowded his brain. 

 

 

Céleste had twice the number of patrons the following morning. Dean was warmed by the praise and enthusiasm of the crowd. He was so rushed, he didn’t look at the guy sitting at table three until he yanked his order pad from his jeans pockets. 

“Hi there, what can I get ya?” He scribbled the table number at the top, then met blue eyes when he lowered it. He smiled. “Hey, Cas. You came in.” 

“Yes.” Castiel was fidgeting with a napkin, staring at his hands. “I very much enjoyed your cookies. You bake well.” 

“Were they your favourite?” 

“They were very good.” Castiel nodded, and frowned slightly. “But they weren’t my favourite.” 

Dean blinked. “Really? I can see I will have to try harder.” He smiled at Castiel, who just blushed and dropped his gaze. “Anything take your fancy?” 

“Oh, I…” He seemed lost, and raised his eyes to Dean’s, expression enigmatic. “I’m not sure.”

Dean reached out and touched his shoulder. “I got this. I will be back with your favourite.” 

 

Castiel clenched his hands together, his heart thundering in his ears. He had picked a table tucked away in a corner, fear he would be seen by his family with every car that rumbled past. He nearly jumped out of his chair when Dean appeared beside him, tray in hand. 

He set a cup of coffee in front of Castiel, a sweep of a design made by the crema through the froth. A plate set beside it held two cookies. Castiel swallowed. He looked up into a moss green eyes. “Thank you.” 

Dean just touched his shoulder gently and headed to another table. 

 

When Dean finally got the chance to look up again, table three was empty. Damn. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel closed the front door, the memory of the tang of fresh ginger from the cookies still rich on his tongue. He leaned back against the door, bringing his fingertips to his lips. He remembered the day he had left for med school. It had been summer. He remembered the warmth of the sun through the car window. 

“Come in here please, Castiel.” His father’s voice was flat and came from his office.  

Castiel wearily closed his eyes. _I’m not sixteen anymore. I’m not sixteen anymore,_ chanted in his head like a litany. He stepped into his father’s office and all the echoes in his mind faded into childhood. He kept his hands clutched around the strap of his bag and stood in the gloomy room with the churn in his gut a familiar feeling whenever he faced his father over that desk. 

“I understand you were seen in the new cafe today.” His father’s tone was difficult to understand. Was he angry?

“I stopped this morning for coffee before work.” Castiel tilted his chin upright. 

“You have been seen there, talking to the proprietor several times.” 

Castiel gritted his teeth. Which of his father’s nosy parishioners had delightedly informed his father? “Twice, Father. I was being polite.”

“I am concerned, Castiel. I am concerned that you will do something that will be detrimental to your reputation.” 

“I hardly think my reputation is in any danger from a cup of coffee,” Castiel replied, trying to keep the annoyed edge from his voice. 

“It’s not the coffee I’m worried about, Castiel.” His father stood abruptly and came around the desk, coming to stand before his youngest son, looming over him. “You came back here after that disaster in Kansas City. No one here knows about that. I will not have you dragging our family name through the mud.”

“Your concern in unwarranted.” Castiel lifted his gaze and met his father’s eyes. The narrow lines between those dark eyes spoke of his consternation. “I have always conducted myself with the utmost propriety, as you well know. My reputation stands on its merits as a doctor in this town.” 

His father’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Well that reputation can be gone in an instant if people get an indication of your…” His mouth twisted in dislike. “…unnatural proclivities.” 

“I am not unnatural!” Castiel exploded, the taste of ginger suddenly sharp on his tongue. “Nor am I a child any longer.” 

“Hold your tongue, boy. You live under this roof, you will live by…my…rules.” The latter statement was punctuated by the stab of a broad fingertip into Castiel’s shoulder. “And this insolence will not stand. You will go and pray for your soul. Now.” 

The flavour faded behind the spike of fear that soured his gut. Castiel held his father’s gaze for a few moments longer, then dropped aside. “I apologise for my harsh tone, father. You have accused me of something that has not taken place.”

 His father, mollified, stepped back. He pursed his lips. “You have done well in this town. Taking over that practice was a fine thing. A fine thing. My parishioners speak often of your understanding and helpfulness. Now if only you would be wed to a nice girl, it would put everything to rest. No one need whisper why the minister’s son is unmarried at his age.” 

Castiel shook his head slowly, but didn’t speak. His father was heading back for his desk. “Perhaps I can arrange something. Several of my parishioners have marriageable daughters. I shall invite them to dinner.”

Castiel closed his eyes. “Whatever you wish, father.” 

 

“Coffee. None of that fancy stuff. Just black.” Bobby didn’t even look at the menu, just glared at Dean with something resembling annoyance.

“Sure. Anything to eat?” Dean asked, scribbling on this notepad. He studied the broad, flushed features nearly obscured by a neatly trimmed beard. The thinning hair was barely scraped into an unusual semblance of tidiness. 

“I dunno. Something…chocolate, I guess.” He shrugged. 

“No worries. I got you covered.” Dean rammed the pencil behind his ear and the notepad in the pocket of his apron.

The door to the cafe opened, letting in a drift of rain damp hair. In something that was almost tradition now, Ellen scrambled in, laughter on her lips. “It’s really coming down out there.” She grinned. “Hey, Dean.” 

“Ellen, hey. Grab a seat, I will be right with you.” Dean waved at the woman who had been in every day. 

“Hi, Bobby.” 

“Ellen.” Bobby was scowling. She just ignored him and took the chair at the same table. “Don’t recall inviting you to sit.” 

“Nope.” Ellen beamed at him, unfazed by his irritation. “You didn’t.” 

Dean slapped the coffee order down for Sam to fill. “The usual, Ellen?” 

“You know it.” She winked at Dean.

“If ya gonna flirt with him, you can go to another table,” Bobby growled with irritation. 

“Aww, but then I can’t flirt with you, Singer,” Ellen drawled, her lips curled with amusement.

The flushed face turned beet red.

Dean delivered the two cups of coffee, and two plates with matching chocolate cupcakes. 

“The hell is this, boy?” Bobby scowled at the offending dessert. 

“Whiskey cream and dark chocolate cupcakes.” Dean set down the forks with a flourish. 

Bobby hesitated, studying the cupcake again. He thrust his finger into the swirl of cream on top. He licked his finger, and met Ellen’s amused gaze. He blinked. 

“It’s alright, I suppose,” he muttered, and picked up his fork. 

Dean tipped a wink at Ellen and she gave him grin in return, picking up her own fork. 

 

“Really, Dean?” Sam shook his head in amusement as he watched the mismatched couple leave the cafe just on closing. 

Dean shrugged, wiping down the table. “Hey, all they needed was a nudge.” 

“Looked more like a hefty kick to me.” Sam closed the till. 

“Well, I just opened his eyes. Up to them now.” 

“Hey, isn’t that Cas Novak? Haven’t seen him in a few days.” Sam jerked his chin at the window. 

Dean hurriedly straightened, and sure enough, Castiel was standing outside, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he considered the exterior of the cafe. When the guy turned to leave, Dean hesitated. 

“I’m going upstairs,” Sam said behind him. “I will come down later to clean up. You good to close up?” 

“Yeah…” Dean didn’t look behind him and thus missed Sam’s grin. “Sure.” He headed for the door and called out. “Hey, Cas!” 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel gave him a slow smile. 

Wow. That smile. Missouri’s warnings clanged at him, but he ignored them. 

“It’s good to see you.” Dean tucked his hands in his pockets. “You haven’t been around for a couple of days.” 

“You are good to…uhh…” Castiel winced. “See, too.” He ran a hand through his smoothly brushed hair, it mussed into untidy spikes. “I’m normally more articulate than this.” 

Dean chuckled. “Feel like coming in for coffee?” 

Castiel bit his lip again, the uncertainty clear on his face. “Aren’t you closed?” He glanced at his watch. 

Dean leaned forward a little. “I was asking you because I wanted to sit down and chat with you. I can’t do that while I’m working.” 

“I …” Castiel pressed his hand against his stomach. 

“I have a new cookie for you to try? You weren’t here this morning, so I put a few aside. How did you like the ginger? I didn’t get the chance to ask, you left so quickly the other day.” 

Castiel smiled again. A little nervous, but definitely pleased. “I would like that. The ginger was good. Warming and spicy. But not, I think, my favourite.” 

Dean studied the light that chased away the sadness in Novak’s eyes and enjoyed it. “No? Well, come on in then.” Dean opened the door and stood aside so that Castiel could enter. He closed and locked the door, turning over the ‘open’ sign. “I will have to see if I can find your favourite.”

“Can we sit out the back?” Castiel asked, clutching his bag strap tightly.

“Sure.” Dean said easily. “White coffee? Any flavouring?” 

“Yes. Thank you. Just plain.” 

“Head on out there. You pick a chair, I will join you in a moment.” 

 

The back room was warm with the low crackling fire. The rain from earlier had abated, and the leaves of the vine that coiled up the back of the building dripped water onto the windows, blurring the view of the tiny back courtyard. 

Castiel pulled his satchel off his shoulder and dropped it onto the ground beside a comfortable looking overstuffed leather armchair. The matching one was alongside, with a tiny round table in between. 

He sat and allowed the warmth of the fire to suffuse his chilled bones. He really had to buy a better coat. One of these days. 

“Here we go.” Dean joined him with a tray holding two cups of coffee and a plate filled with oversized cookies rammed full of huge bittersweet chocolate chips.  

Dean sat in the armchair with a groan of relief and tipped his head back against the headrest. “Feels so good to get off my feet.” 

“You must start very early.” 

“Most days.” Dean nodded. “I generally try to bake the night before, but sometimes things just taste better fresh, so I get up at four.”

“Four.” Castiel winced. “In the morning? I didn’t think four in the morning even existed.” 

Dean laughed. “It does. I find it peaceful. Even moreso once Sammy heads back to San Francisco.”

“Oh,” Castiel was surprised. “I thought he was your partner in this?” 

“Hah. I think the thought of settling in Lawrence would give him palpitations. No. He is just here to help me out. He is heading back to his law practice a couple of days after Thanksgiving.

Dean picked up his coffee mug.

“How about you? You work with anyone?” 

Castiel nodded. “I have a partner too. Charlie Bradbury. She’s brilliant. Funny. My father dislikes her greatly, but since she was hired on before I took over the practice, I was given a good reason not to fire her on his whim.” 

Dean sipped his coffee slowly, schooling his immediate response to be angered, choosing to measure his response. 

“Oh? Why does your father dislike Charlie?” 

“My father is a devout man with strong convictions. In many ways that makes him a fine leader for his flock.” Dean didn’t miss Castiel’s white knuckles where they clutched around the cup of coffee and an odd anger stirred in his gut. There was something buried there. “However, he holds to traditional values. Charlie has a girlfriend.”

Dean set down his cup. “So Charlie is gay and your father disapproves? Along with…most of the town?” 

“Oh, not most. No.” Castiel shook his head. “But enough.” 

“I see.” Dean nodded. 

Castiel lapsed into silence, staring down into the cooling cup resting in the curve of his hands. “He disapproves of me for the same reasons.” 

A wash of something between relief and protectiveness shivered through Dean. “So he knows you are gay?” 

“I am not ‘out’ in this town.” Castiel met his eyes with a bone deep weariness. “My father knows. As do my brothers. For the sake of my family name, I keep it secret.” 

“That must be difficult. I have been fortunate with the acceptance shown to me by my family.” 

Castiel tilted his head. “Oh?” 

Dean smiled and nodded. “I worked out I was bi when I was in my twenties. It explained a lot and my family was very supportive when I told them. I think Mom and Dad were clued in when they caught me making out with a guy on the couch when they got home from a movie and I forgot to check the time.” 

Castiel didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. Usually his story wrought at least a quirk of the lips. 

“You are fortunate to have such a close family.”

“Well, it’s just Sammy and I now. Mom and Dad died a few years back.” Dean grimaced. “Drunk driver.” 

“I’m sorry, Dean. My mother died when I was a child. I don’t remember much about her. She smelled of vanilla. And she liked to hug people.” 

Dean’s hand wrapped over Castiel’s forearm. He didn’t offer any platitudes. 

Castiel smiled then. 

It warmed Dean’s heart. 

 

Darkness had fallen by the time Dean escorted Castiel to the front door. 

“Are you sure you are okay to walk home? It would be easy to drive you.” 

“It’s fine, Dean.” Castiel slung his bag over his head and hesitated in the opening. “Thank you for this evening. I had a nice time.” 

“Me too. You are…well, frankly, really awesome.” Dean gave him a crooked smile. 

When Castiel’s lips crashed into his, he was startled. But the awkwardness swiftly shifted to warmth, as he folded Castiel in his arms and returned the kiss. Who knows how long they stood there, but Castiel was the first to draw back and take in a gasp of air. His gorgeous blue eyes were slumberous in the faint light cast from the kitchen, his lips kiss swollen and parted. 

Dean lifted a hand and traced his thumb over Castiel’s bottom lip. “Wow.” He murmured. 

“I’m sorry. I should have asked…” Castiel flushed dark, and stepped back. 

Dean let him go and shook his head in reply. “No. Wow. No. I’m glad you did that. Hottest moment in recent memory.” 

Castiel made a soft sound that might have been a laugh. 

Dean leaned forward, without touching him otherwise, and kissed him lightly. “Thank you for your company tonight. I hope we can spend time together again.” 

“I would like that very much. Good night, Dean.” Castiel clutched his bag strap again before stepping out into the night. 

“Night, Cas.” 

Castiel hunched in to the cold, but was warmed when he watched Dean wait until he turned the corner on to the next block before going back inside. He even raised a hand to bid him farewell. 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean woke to the sound of loud banging downstairs. His bedroom window was above street level and he opened the latch and leaned out. 

“Who the hell is that? Do y’know what time it is?” 

A dark figure stepped backwards from the door and peered up. Missouri glared at him with such an expression it made him shrink. 

“Missouri? What are you doing here?” 

“Get down here right now, boy.” 

“It’s …” He peered at the illuminated face of his bedside clock and groaned. “…It’s one am. Can’t this wait?” 

“No. It can’t.” She was emphatic. 

“Okay, okay. I’m coming down. Stop banging.” 

 

Missouri had him pressed back against the wall as soon as he unlocked the front door and let her in. 

“Did you mess with that beautiful boy after I told you what was what?” 

Dean scrubbed at his eyes. “What? Who?” 

“Castiel Novak. Did you mess with him? What did you do? Give him courage? Or maybe bring out a memory or two to give him a nudge in a certain direction?” 

Dean held up both his hands, palms up. “Me? No. What?” His brain was still sleep fuzzed. “I haven’t done anything. I wouldn’t.” 

Missouri searched his eyes, and after a moment, they went a little wide. “You really didn’t mean to, did you?” She gripped his chin and glared harder, her expression cleared. “Oh.” 

“Oh…what?” Dean grumbled in frustration. “Not for nothing, but what is so all fired important that you chose to wake me up at one am?” 

“Castiel is in trouble,” she said softly. “His daddy is hurting him. Has always hurt him some, but tonight is worse’n usual.” 

Dean shoved off the wall, his features drained of blood. “What? What d’you mean? How do you …” 

“I have gifts too, boy.” She narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at him. “I reckon he needs your help right now. Not because of what you both might come to be, but because whether you meant to or not, you gave him the courage to stand up to his daddy tonight, and his daddy doesn’t take kindly to folks going against his will, ‘specially not when it’s his own kin.”

Dean’s throat was tight. “I didn’t mean to …” 

“No. You didn’t.” She patted him gently. “But it doesn’t matter now. Go on then.” 

Dean scrambled up the stairs two at a time. 

 

The house was quiet. Dean sat in the Impala, gripping the steering wheel as he stared at the Novak place. The lights were all out. But it felt wrong. It felt like Cas wasn’t in there. He just knew it. 

He didn’t have Castiel’s number. He should have gotten his number. He thudded the heel of his hand on the hard leather. He was about to put the car in gear to drive away when he saw the faint flicker of light in the window of the church whose spires soared tall and ominous into the dark skies next door. 

Dean frowned and closed his eyes. 

Yes. 

It had to be. 

He opened the door of the Impala and got out, slamming it shut behind him. He ran for the door of the church and was vaguely surprised it was open. _Didn’t churches have closing hours?_ The interior was lit by a handful of candles and the illumination behind the massive cross at the far end over the altar. The angels in the lead-light windows were jewel toned in the golden light, looking down kindly over the pews, their saintly visages smiling sadly. The smell of incense made Dean’s nose itch. He scanned the room until he could see the figure in the front pew.

“Cas?” 

No movement from the far end. Dean moved quickly down the aisle between the pews until he reached the figure in the front, kneeling on the hard wooden step that dropped into place. 

“Cas?” Dean reached out and curved his hand over the hunched shoulder, the trench coat rumpled and cold in the chill of the church.

There was a rasping sound. “Dean.” 

“Cas?” Panic ripped through him and he sat down, putting one hand on the other man’s chest, pressing him upright from his penitent huddle. Castiel’s face was puffy, a red stain on his cheek rapidly souring into a bruise. Dean swallowed the arc of anger that made his throat clench. “Oh. Shit.” He curved his hand over Castiel’s cheek and studied the damage.

Castiel’s oh-so-righteous father had beaten him. Castiel’s eyes drifted closed. 

“Can you get up?” Dean murmured. 

Castiel’s voice was a whisper. “Numb. Legs numb.” 

“How long have you been sitting here?” 

“He got home from your place around seven.” The new voice made Dean jerk his head around, while he tried to support Castiel’s weight against him. The speaker was a shorter man, dirty blonde hair and a mouth that tended toward smiles, but was now twisted in a frown. He carried a covered dish and a basin. “Father dear made him kneel in here after he was done with him.” 

Dean helped Castiel sit up on the hard bench, propping him in the corner. He carefully laid his head back, only sliding his hand away from the back of his neck at the last possible moment. 

“Your father is an asshole.”

“Agreed.” The guy kept moving forward, unfazed by Dean’s anger. He set the dish and basin down on the pew opposite. “Can you get him out of here?” 

Dean opened his mouth, frowned. “Won’t you tell your father?” 

“Hell no. If he even found out I was in here, I would get the same righteous wrath.” 

“Why’re you even in here?” 

“Food. Water. Stuff to help with the bruises. I didn’t want to leave Cas on his own.”

“And you didn’t think that maybe, just maybe, you should have stopped him from hitting your brother?” Dean’s voice ripped with scorn. 

The guy had the presence of mind to look ashamed. “I wish I had been there. I got home around midnight from work. Found out from Mike what Dad had done. Had to wait until he went to bed before I came over. This has happened before. To all of us.” 

“Who the hell are you again?” 

“Gabriel. Everyone calls me Gabe.” 

“Well, Gabe.” Dean scooped up Castiel, who murmured a faint protest, as though he weighed nothing. “Forget you ever saw me.” 

“A pleasure, Winchester.” 

Dean narrowed his eyes. Gabe shrugged. 

“Figured it was you.” When Dean drew level, Gabe grimaced again. “Shit, Cassie. Wish I had been here, but I don’t think even I could have taken this one for you this time.” He laid his hand gently on his brother’s mussed hair, and looked up at Dean. 

Dean sighed. “I think your family is messed up.” 

“You don’t know the half of it.” 

Gabe watched them go, his hands in his pockets. 

 

Dean pulled into the parking space where he kept his Baby and turned off the engine. He turned in his seat, and saw that Castiel was awake, his features drawn and pale. His eyes were glassy and pain filled.

 “Hey. You okay?” Dean asked softly, reaching out toward him. 

Castiel flinched automatically, and Dean snatched his hand back, a flush on his cheek. “Where…am I?” 

“I brought you to my home. Didn’t wanna leave you in that place.”

Castiel struggled feebly with the door latch. “My father. He will …” 

“He ain’t gonna hurt you any more.” Dean clenched his jaw. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” 

Castiel collapsed back against the seat, and tipped his head back with his eyes closed. Tears welled from under his lashes and traced down his cheek. “Dean…” 

“Hey. Hey hey.” Dean reached for Castiel again, and this time Cas let him. Even turned into it, and wrapped an arm around Dean’s back, tucking his face into the curve of Dean’s neck. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” 

They sat like that for a long time, until the cold of the night seeped into their skin and shivers wracked them both. 

“Let’s get you in and warm.” 

Castiel merely nodded. 

Then Dean led him upstairs with slow, wincing steps, one arm wrapped around Dean’s shoulders. Sam was waiting in the kitchen, kettle steaming. When the two men came into the room, he stood, worry creasing his face. 

“Dean, what happened?” 

“Cas’s father beat him to hell and back.” 

“What?” Sam was stunned. “He did what?”

“I’m okay. I will be…okay.” Castiel said hoarsely. 

“Bullshit.” Dean lowered Castiel carefully to a kitchen chair and squatted down before him, hands warm on his trembling legs. “Cas. You aren’t okay. This can’t be okay.” He reached up and touched the bruised flesh of his cheek. “Gabe wasn’t bringing that water and ointment just for this. Where else?” 

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was gentle. 

“No, Sammy. This isn’t right. This …man of the church. This man who leads the community in what should be right and good, hit his own son because Cas wanted to have a cup of coffee with me.” 

Castiel curled his hand around Dean’s and spoke more forcefully. “I will be okay. I’m here. Not there. I’m here. I just need rest…” He hesitated, glancing between the brothers. 

“I will sort something out.” Dean hurriedly stood and headed to his room. 

Sam studied Castiel thoughtfully. The guy was edging the trench coat from his shoulders and wincing. Sam carefully helped until the trench coat draped heavily in his hands. And when he saw the back of Castiel’s shirt, he stilled. 

When Dean returned to the room, he saw Sam plucking at the collar of Castiel’s shirt and scowled. “What’s wrong?” 

“You’re right. It’s not just his face,” Sam said, his lips thin. 

“It’s okay. It looks worse than…” Castiel tried to deflect the concern.

In two swift strides Dean was behind him, his warm palm curving over his shoulder, his breath hissing out between clenched teeth. “Cas.” 

Castiel’s shirt was torn and bloodied. His back was beaten black and blue. In sections, the skin had split. 

“What did he beat you with?” 

“A belt,” Castiel said flatly. “It was his way.”

“Let’s clean you up. Dress these.” Dean looked up at Sam. “I’m going to need water. More dressings.” 

Sam nodded and headed back to the bathroom. Dean surveyed the damage again. “This is wrong,” he muttered. “So wrong. I should’ve listened to Missouri. I should’ve…” 

“What are you talking about, Dean?” Castiel turned in his chair slightly, enough so that Dean was forced to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, Cas. This was my fault. I shouldn’t have done it. I should have…I should have just let you walk past. I shouldn’t have asked you to coffee.” 

“Dean. Stop.” 

“I promise I didn’t use my gift on you. I knew I couldn’t. That would have been wrong. It is wrong. I would never use it and get you hurt.” 

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice grew deeper and more gravelled. He slowly rose up, and reached out to clasp Dean’s arm. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t my fault. It was the fault of the man who can’t see me. He can’t see that I’m no longer a child who can be bullied into abiding by his will. He couldn’t beat my rebellion out of me. He still hasn’t.” Castiel lifted his hand and curved it over Dean’s cheek. His thumb traced the strong ridge of his jaw. “I’m still here. It’s just physical pain, and believe me, thank you for getting me out of there. I should have walked away when he drew out the belt. I could have. I wanted to. But I just froze. It was like I was twelve again.” Castiel shook his head. “But you got me out.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips gently against Dean’s cheek. “Thank you.” 

Carefully, Dean wrapped Castiel in an embrace. Oh, so carefully. He could feel Castiel’s hesitation, before his arms crept around his torso, and his forehead dropped into the curve of Dean’s shoulder. 

Sam returned, quietly set the items he had collected from the bathroom down on the table. He looked quizzically at Dean, who shooed him away. Understanding, he nodded and withdrew, leaving the two men alone. 

Castiel’s breath was slow and steady, washing against his collar bone with barely a whisper. It was only the press of his hands that indicated his need to be held. A thought wandered through his mind, with his mother’s voice. “Always be the last to let go.” So he waited, one hand soothing the back of Castiel’s neck, the other just brushing his lower back, uncertain how low the marks went. 

Castiel eventually drew back, unable to meet Dean’s eyes, but not letting go either. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I needed your touch.” 

“Sit. I want you to drink some water. Then I’m going to clean up the cuts, okay?” Dean touched Castiel’s chin, beckoning him to look up. When he did, Dean’s breath caught. Those blue eyes were darkened by a maelstrom of emotion. Pain, anger, fear, but when he stared at Dean for a moment, that storm quieted a little, and a small nod punctuated his movement as he sat. 

“Do you have tea?” Castiel rasped. 

“Yes.” Dean nodded. “Of course.”

“That then. Please. Just black.” 

Dean flicked the kettle switch and brought down a cup. He leaned on the counter, staring down at the marble speckled surface. 

“What did you mean ‘your gift’?” Castiel spoke softly, barely above the gurgle of the kettle. 

Dean flinched, and he flushed a little. “Uhh. Don’t worry about it. Just…I feel bad for kissing you.” 

“I initiated it.” 

Dean nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the plain white cup. “There was mutual…kissage.” He waved a hand vaguely. “But on the doorstep of the shop was too public.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

Dean turned and leaned back on the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. He chewed his lower lip guiltily. “You are going to think I’m insane.” 

Castiel sighed. “Dean.” 

The kettle hissed louder, then switched off. Dean tipped the water into the cup with its tea bag. He returned to Castiel and set it down. 

“I need to get that shirt off you.” 

Castiel gave a weary smile. “Not the context I imagined this occurring.” 

Dean returned the smile, albeit only a shadow of humour in the curve. He carefully dampened the shirt and underlying wounds. He tugged the cotton fabric away and off, with only the faintest hiss of pained protest from Castiel.

The bruising was deep and purpling up darkly. The few sections where the skin had broken still seeped a tiny amount of blood where the coagulated parts had separated after Dean had removed the shirt. 

Dean brushed his fingertips over the worst of the bruising. “Cas.” 

“It’s alright. It is just flesh. It will heal.” 

Dean reached out and picked up a clean cloth. Carefully, he bathed the cuts, easing bits of thread from the mess. 

“Tell me about your gift.” Castiel was turned sideways in his seat, facing the table and his shoulders were tense. “Take my mind off what you are doing.” 

“I’m hurting you.” Dean clenched his hands around the pink stained rag. 

“Yes. But it’s inevitable. Continue. But speak. I am distracted when you speak.” 

Dean took a slow breath and returned to the careful work. “I guess I was a kid when I first learned to cook. My mother taught me. She was…incredible. There wasn’t a recipe she couldn’t improve on. And when people had her food, they would feel better. Or, they would do better. Or remember things.” Dean shifted, tossed the cloth into the stained water and picked up the bottle of antibacterial ointment. “This is going to hurt.” 

“Keep talking,” Castiel said hoarsely. 

At the first sluice of the iodine onto the cotton swap and then onto the broken skin, Castiel made a low keening sound in his chest. Dean continued, hurriedly. 

“I suppose I inherited it. I can work out what someone needs most, and when I make up my recipes I tweak them so they help. Sometimes it doesn’t work. Most times it does, if people are open to wanting it.” 

“What … did you mean…about promising Missouri?” 

Dean hesitated, then continued the application. “Uhh. Well, she told me not to mess with you. She spotted me right off. Thought I might have been some kind of con man at first. She thought I might have given you something to make you stand up to your father - courage or…something.” 

“You did that first day, didn’t you?” Castiel asked.  

Dean bit his lower lip and set down the iodine, finished. He picked up the first dressing, but was stilled by Castiel’s hand on his. 

“Didn’t you?” 

Dean looked down, shamefaced. “Yes. You seemed sad. I wanted to remind you of a good memory. So I gave you the lemon cookies. But that was the only time, I promise.” 

Castiel released his hand and he carefully applied the dressings on the worse of the damage. The salve he applied to the bruising. 

“All done,” Dean said, softly. 

Castiel straightened and took a shaking breath. He turned slightly in his chair to face Dean. He was pale and drawn, the deep lines either side of his mouth and between his brows the measure of his discomfiture. 

“Thank you, Dean. While, obviously, I would have preferred not to be sitting in your kitchen getting patched up, in many ways you did show me the path to my freedom. The memory, your cookies, your kiss. It all helped me walk away.” 

Dean gave him a faint quirk of a smile. Castiel returned it. 

“You will sleep in my bed.” Dean stood and held out his hand. “I had fresh sheets put on today. I will take the couch.” 

“No. I will take the couch.” Castiel gripped Dean’s hand and used it to help him stand. He was stronger now, fortified by care, and strong tea, but still bone deep tired. 

Dean gave a broader smile, and his eyes sparkled a little. “I will just carry you there, you know. You are a solid guy, but I’m pretty strong.”

Castiel scowled. “I’m a guest in your home.” 

Dean reached out and brushed his fingertips over Castiel’s brow. “When Sam departs for his home tomorrow, you can stay in his room. Until you sort out what you wanna do, alright? But tonight you get to stay in my bed, and accept my hospitality with a ‘Yes, Dean’.” 

Castiel studied his face with an expression that held a certain amount of what could only be described as hope. “Are you sure?” 

Dean nodded emphatically. “I’m sure.” 

“Then… ‘Yes, Dean’.” 

“Come on.” 

 

Dean lay back on the couch, thinking of the man now laying face down on his bed, a couple of painkillers on board to help him rest. He tugged the quilt a little higher and closed his eyes, sleep claiming him as he considered the beauty of blue eyes. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

“You sure you’re alright if I leave?” Sam asked again as Dean racked a set of muffins. 

“Go, Sammy.” Dean dusted his hands on his chest. “If ya don’t get on the road before six, you won’t get to the airport in time.” 

“Don’t like you dealing with the Novak clan on your own.” 

“They don’t scare me.” 

Sam’s brow wrinkled. 

“They don’t.” Dean insisted, switching on the mixer.

“Yeah. Sure.” Sam shifted his huge pack on his back. “But I guess I have to go.” 

“Take care, Sammy. Thanks for your help.”

“See you at Christmas?” 

The brothers hugged. Dean grimaced and dusted the flour off Sam’s jacket. He nodded. “Yeah. You sure you are okay to make the trek back here?” 

“Three weeks.” 

Dean nodded and grinned. “Three weeks.” 

Sammy raised a hand and headed out the front door of the cafe. 

 

Dean prepped the front counter for opening. The sound of rapping on the front door had him glancing up from the register. He scowled when he saw Gabe Novak standing there, his hand raised in apologetic greeting. 

He moved through the tables and yanked open the door, blocking the portal and towering over the diminutive man. “Yes?” 

“How is he?” Gabe had his hands tucked in his pockets, and met Dean’s scornful gaze with steadiness. 

“Asleep. What do you want?” 

Gabe reached down and picked up a canvas bag, bulging and barely zipped and dumped it at Dean’s feet. Reaching down again, he picked up the battered satchel Dean had seen Cas carry so often to and from work. 

“I wanted to bring his stuff. He’s staying here for a while right?” 

“If he wants to.” Dean shrugged. 

“Well, wherever he goes, he is gonna need some of that stuff.” 

Dean hesitated, bent down and picked up the bags. “You might as well come in for a bit.” He headed into the shop. “Close the door behind you.”

“I can’t stay. It won’t take them long to figure Castiel has gone and I don’t want them asking too many questions right now.” Gabe hesitated on the doorstep.

“So your father is unaware that Castiel isn’t in the church?” 

“He still thinks my baby brother is kneeling in that front row.” 

Dean winced and for the first time gentled his tone. “Will he be very angry with you?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, he will.” Gabe shrugged. “I’m out of here after New Year anyway.” 

Dean nodded slowly. 

Gabe shifted edgily. “Dad will make it difficult for you once he finds out Cassie is here. He will bash you from the pulpit and you will find some of your regulars…well, they won’t be regulars anymore.” 

Dean stared down Gabe, who grimaced again. “So what you are telling me, Gabriel, that your homophobic, abusive father, will try to put me out of business and people will go along with it?” He shook his head slowly. “Nice town.” 

“Not everyone will be on his side. I’m not,” Gabe protested.

“Well thanks for bringing Cas’s stuff over. I’m sure he will appreciate it.”

“Get him to call me when he wakes up?” 

“If he wants to, sure.” 

Gabe nodded. “Fair enough.” 

Dean closed the shop door behind Gabe and relocked it. He headed back upstairs with the bags, putting them on the couch. He tilted his head at the sound of running water in the bathroom. After a few moments, the bedroom door opened and Castiel shuffled out, bruising dark on his face, the pain of his injuries evident in his strained expression. 

“Hey. You doing okay?” Dean asked quietly, not wanting to startle him. 

Castiel’s eyes widened even so and he jerked. He blew out a sharp breath. “Sorry.” He rubbed his palm over his belly, the soft fabric of Dean’s old t shirt shifting. “Gotta say I have felt better.” 

“Gabe brought your stuff. Your work satchel too.” Dean waved his hand at the bags. “Was gonna call Doctor Bradbury if you weren’t awake by the time I opened up downstairs.”

“Gabe was here?” Castiel glanced at the bags. 

“Yeah. He said he wouldn’t tell your father where you are.” 

“It won’t take long for Father to figure it out.” 

“Probably not.” Dean shrugged. 

“I won’t stay. I will not have my family interfering in your life.” 

“I’m not afraid of your father, Cas.” 

“It isn’t fair to you. We barely know each other.” 

“Screw that, Cas,” Dean said sharply. “This is what decent folks do for each other whether they are in a relationship or not. You are hurtin’ right now. I wanna help. That’s it. Sammy left this morning. You can have his room.”

Castiel closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest.

“You okay?” Dean approached, concerned. 

“Yes,” Castiel said quietly. “I think I might be. I need to call Charlie. I hope Gabe put my phone in my bag.” 

“You can use the landline otherwise.” Dean searched Castiel’s face. “You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” 

“No. I have no wish to deal with the paperwork and questions when I go through the Emergency Room.” 

“What about Charlie? Can’t she come?”

“I don’t want to involve her in this.” 

“Well, see how it heals I guess.” Dean was uncertain. “Can I see?” 

Castiel shuffled around in a half circle and partially lifted his shirt. His movements impaired, he let Dean lift the rest of the way. Dean hissed through his teeth. 

“How’re you walking, Cas? This must be agony. The bruising looks real bad.” He lowered the hem of the shirt. 

“It will be alright.” Castiel insisted. “I will bathe and take some painkillers.” He turned back to face Dean, his jaw set. 

“I will bring up breakfast after the morning rush. I have coffee up here, but not much in the way of breakfast foods. I have a day off tomorrow, but today you will have to deal with my cooking.”  

“Thank you. I appreciate it, Dean. I promise I will make it up to you.” 

“No need, Cas.” Dean leaned forward a little, his hands tucked in his pockets. “Just get some rest.” He glanced at the clock, swore. “I gotta go. You need anything, you call okay?” 

 

When Dean closed the door at the end of day, he was relieved. So many new faces today, and more of the old. He didn’t use his gift. He just couldn’t. He had lost his heart for it. When Missouri came in, the place was humming with conversation. She tilted her head in silent query. He nodded and pointed with his forefinger to the ceiling. She smiled in approval and drank her pot of tea. 

Now he could go upstairs and take care of Cas. 

But as he turned off the kitchen lights, he was startled by a rapping at the front door. He peered out. A woman stood out there, wrapped in a bright yellow and black tartan coat, her hair a bright beacon of red, a wide smile as she waved at him furiously. He sighed. 

He approached and opened the door. “I’m so sorry, but I just closed up. We are open again on Wednesday.” 

“All good. I’m lookin’ for Castiel?” She tiptoed, peering over his shoulder. 

“And you are?” Dean asked warily. 

“Charlie Bradbury.” 

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. “Come on in. Did he ask you to come past?” His smile faded. He glanced back over his shoulder. “He didn’t say he was feeling worse.” 

Charlie patted Dean on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, babe. He will be Mister Crankypants once he knows I dropped by to see him. No offence to your first aid capabilities, but I wanna check him out myself. Car accidents ain’t nothing to joke about.” 

Dean hesitated. She continued smiling brightly at him. She took pity and leaned forward. “I know he wasn’t in a car accident. He wouldn’t be staying here if he was in an accident. I know the rumors about Daddy Novak. Bit of an arse, really.” 

“I concur,” Dean said with feeling. “Come on upstairs.” 

 

Dean headed in first. 

Castiel glanced up at him from his position on the couch. “Hello, Dean. I hope you don’t mind, I was bored just lying in …” He paused and his eyes widened as he saw Charlie following close behind. “Charlie?” He narrowed his eyes at Dean, who just held up his hands in defence. 

“Don’t blame him.” Charlie breezily strolled in, yanking off her coat, tossing it aside to reveal a dark red button down shirt open over a t-shirt, and long legs wrapped in green jeans. She looked like a crazy birthday cake. It was adorable. Dean headed for the tiny kitchen, putting the supplies in for breakfast in the morning.

When Charlie’s cheer turned into blind fury, the apartment echoed.

“Oh baby! What did that man do to you?” she exclaimed as she leaned forward, her long fingers gripping his chin and peering at the damage. “Where else?” Her voice dropped low and dangerous. 

“I’m fine, Charlie. Just need a few days. Honest. Dean is fine with me staying here until I can sort out somewhere to stay.” 

“You can come live with me,” she said flatly. 

“No. Charlie.” Castiel gripped her hands. “Listen to me. I’m okay. I am going to find myself a place to live. On my own. Nowhere near …” He paused. “Just on my own.” 

“I want to check it. All of it.” Charlie folded her arms over her chest. 

“Charlie …” Castiel rubbed his forehead. 

“Come on. Display that pasty white body for me.” She leaned forward. “Before I get Dean to help me.” 

“Don’t involve me in this,” Dean protested. 

To her credit, Charlie didn’t respond when she saw the damage, but her eyes met Dean’s. Her mouth was set in a grim line. 

“I am going to get you some antiseptic cream and a script for antibiotics. This even looks like it is going to be infected, you will take it.” 

She nodded in approval at Dean’s dressings. “This will be good until tomorrow. Then I want you in my office.” She looked at Dean. “Got it?” 

“Got it,” he confirmed. 

“I’m sitting right here,” Castiel growled. 

“Yes, you are. And if I merely give the order to you, you will just take it as a recommendation rather than an absolute truth. I think your …” She looked at Dean consideringly. “I think Dean understands the reality. Okay, I’m out, bitches. Gotta date.” She pointed at Dean. “Orders, remember?” 

“Got it, boss.” Dean flipped her a salute, before heading to the couch, two huge plates in hand, each piled with a huge burger with all the trimmings. “Dinner is served.” 

Castiel eased his t shirt down and took the plate. He looked at the contents in consternation. “This seems excessive.” 

“Just try it.” Dean chomped in and groaned. He made a damn fine burger. 

Castiel carefully picked up the burger and bit in. 

“Mrff,” he groaned. 

“Right?” Dean beamed around his own mouthful. 

Castiel chewed and swallowed and stared in awe at the best burger he had ever tasted. He didn’t speak again for several minutes. 

 

Several minutes later, Castiel put down the plate, defeated by a quarter of the burger. He carefully leaned back on the cushions he had propped around himself and groaned, splaying his hands over his belly. 

Dean set his empty plate beside Castiel’s. He rumbled a closemouthed burp and thumped his chest with a closed fist. “Aww, yeah.” He leaned back with a sigh. “That hit the spot.” 

“I don’t think I can move,” Castiel complained. 

Dean patted him on the thigh. “You’re welcome.” He picked up the remote, switched on Netflix and scrolled through. “Any preferences?” 

“You pick. I have never seen anything on this Netflix.” 

Dean looked at him in surprise. “What did you watch today then?” 

“I didn’t.” Castiel gestured at the book on the table. “I was reading.” 

“Huh. I have an idea.” Dean brought up the Walking Dead. 

“Zombies?” Castiel wrinkled his nose. 

“It’s awesome.” 

 

Neither of them made it through one episode. Castiel leaned against his shoulder and was asleep before Rick was shot. Dean rested his hand on Castiel’s thigh, and was passed out about five minutes later. 

The sound of a gun shot jerked Dean awake a couple of hours later. The crew were running from zombies. Dean carefully reached for the remote and turned the TV off. Despite his efforts, Castiel woke, shifting in protest against Dean. 

“Bed time, I reckon,” Dean said softly. He stared down into Castiel’s sleepily opened eyes. He couldn’t help but trail his fingers across Castiel’s uninjured cheek. “Hey.” 

Castiel smiled slightly. 

Dean leaned down and pressed the gentlest of kisses against Castiel’s lips. Castiel hummed and clutched Dean’s shirt with a curled fist, holding him in place while they slowly, luxuriously explored each other’s mouths. Dean drew back, concerned when Castiel groaned. 

“Cas?” 

Castiel touched Dean’s lips with his fingertips. “You are incredible.” 

Dean leaned back on the couch, relieved, his palm resting lightly on Castiel’s belly. “I like kissing you. You’re pretty damn good at it.” His eyes crinkled with teasing light.

“Mmm, you aren’t bad yourself.” Castiel licked his lips. 

Dean’s gaze was drawn down to the action, before he blew out a sharp breath. “Right.” He tapped his fingers on Castiel’s belly and levered himself upright. He held out his hand. Castiel gripped it and his face tensed as he came upright himself. 

“Okay?” Dean asked in concern. 

Castiel took a couple of breaths. “Yeah. It just hurts when I move…breath..” His brow wrinkled. “…Exist.” Castiel soothed the concern on Dean’s face with a touch. “It’s just physical.” He leaned in and kissed Dean briefly on the corner of his mouth. “You have helped heal my soul.”

 

Later Dean leaned his forehead against the cool tile of the shower stall, washing away the day. The hot water beat down on his shoulders and he sighed with the pleasure of it. 

When he slipped into bed, he turned his face into his pillow and was out like a light.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

In the coming days as November slipped into December, when business at Céleste was a little quieter, Dean put it down to the weather, snow dusting everything in light falls over two days. 

Castiel went back to work when the bruising on his face went down. Charlie would drive past and pick him up every day, refusing to let him walk. The bruises on his back were a murky purple yellow, but he could move without pain. Gabe was the only member of the Novak family who called.

A week went by, and Cas hadn’t mentioned moving out, and Dean had no intention of bringing it up. He liked Cas being around. He liked the kisses they shared on the couch while they… mostly…watched movies. Kisses that had turned into second base groping once or twice, and had him masturbating in the shower before he went to bed.

They had Charlie and her girlfriend, Gilda, for dinner. And rather than cram into the tiny apartment, Dean cleared out the room downstairs, pushing back extra tables. Amidst the blue and silver toned Christmas decorations, they celebrated with too much wine, soaring music and excellent food.

Castiel hung onto the waistband of Dean’s jeans as they headed unsteadily upstairs. Dean wrapped him up tenderly at the top of those uneven steps, and kissed him.

Dean’s back thudded against the apartment door as Castiel leaned in, his palms pressed to the wood either side of Dean. 

“Your cooking was incredible.” His lips hovered an inch above Dean’s. 

“How did you like the dessert cookies?” Dean skimmed his hands over Castiel’s waist.

“Delicious.” Castiel’s teeth nipped Dean’s lower lip. “But not my favourite.” 

Dean scowled. “White chocolate and macadamia? Who doesn’t like white chocolate and macadamia?” 

Castiel smiled, and his kiss traced the petulant curve of Dean’s mouth. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” He nipped the pouting lower lip. “But it just wasn’t my favourite.” 

Dean’s hands skimmed torturously up Castiel’s spine, his fingernails scraping lightly. Castiel shuddered. 

“I will find your favourite, Castiel Novak.” 

“It might take some time.” 

Dean’s eyes were slumbrous. “I’m patient.” 

Castiel laughed softly. “You are.” He lifted a hand from the door and trailed his fingertips over the sharp arch of Dean’s cheekbone, then the cushion of his thumb along the blade of his jaw. He kissed Dean softly. “Very patient.” 

“I’m not asking for any more than you wanna give, Cas.” Dean hooked his thumbs into the loops of Castiel’s jeans, his fingertips splayed over his butt. “I just like you being here.” 

Castiel met his mouth fiercely for many, many long moments, tasting deeply, eyes squeezed closed to the sensation. He broke off to take a breath, opening his eyes to meet Dean’s steady, luminous gaze. 

“So…blue..” Dean murmured in wonderment, a hand venturing upward to swipe a thumb over Castiel’s brow. “Like the sky.” 

Castiel’s lips twitched. “Romantic.”

“Shhh. I’m admiring you.” Dean rumbled, tapping his nose with a forefinger. “I like your chin.” He leaned forward and kissed the cleft briefly. 

“It’s hard to shave,” Castiel complained. 

“It’s adorable.” Dean curved his palm over that strong chin and kissed Castiel again. “Sleep well, Castiel.”

“Sleep well, Dean.” 

It was a heartbeat or two before Castiel pushed back from the door. Dean took a slow, steadying breath as he watched Castiel head to his bedroom.

 

Dean startled awake when a smashing sound came from downstairs.

“YOU’RE GOING TO HELL, FAG!” came the shout from the street. A screech of tyres punctuated the epithet. 

Dean leapt out of bed, scrambling downstairs. The brick lay in the middle of a table. The glass shelves were hanging off their brackets, two of them shattered. The front window was in pieces. 

He approached in a daze, stopped by a strong hand gripping his hand. 

“Dean. You aren’t wearing shoes. Stop.” Castiel had followed him downstairs. 

Dean hissed out a low breath and reaching over, flicked on the light. The damage was worse in the light. It sparkled off all the splinters of glass. 

“Go up and get your shoes,” Castiel insisted. “I will call the police.” 

Dean stared at Castiel wordlessly. 

Castiel stepped in, and curved his hands around Dean’s face. “It will be alright.” He brushed a soft kiss against his lips. “It will.”

 

Castiel listened to Dean stumbling up the stairs and turned to look at the fallout of his father’s hate. He felt sick. This wouldn’t end. Not while he stayed here. His father would take his wrath out on Dean again and again. 

But he took a calming breath and reached for the phone. 

 

The next morning, Bobby and Ellen came in together. They stared mutely at the large sheet of wood Dean had carefully laid in place. The glass had been swept up and as always the rich smell from the kitchen was tantalising. 

“Dean? What happened?” Ellen asked him quietly. 

“Aww, don’t worry about it.” Dean grinned, even though it never reached his eyes. “Glaziers are coming this afternoon. Should be right as rain.” 

Bobby narrowed his eyes. “That’s just bullshit, boy. Who broke the window?” 

“Just some kids, Bobby. Lettin’ off steam.” Dean’s smile wavered. “What can I get you?” 

“Coffee. Black. And one of those muffin things.” Bobby watched Dean with those piercing eyes.

Ellen was softer but no less perceptive. “How is Doctor Novak?” 

Dean tensed, flicked his glance between his only two customers. “He’s alright. Going in to work at the hospital tomorrow.”

Ellen nodded.  

Bobby sat down in a chair with an emphatic plop. His booted feet sprawled. “Anyone fucks with my favourite coffee, they are gonna fuck with me.” He scowled deeply. “Doc don’t treat me like a grumpy old man, unlike some people.” He glared at Ellen. 

Ellen leaned over Bobby, cupped his face and kissed him briefly. 

The blush on Bobby’s face was a sight to see and Dean couldn’t help but properly smile. This is why he did what he did. 

“Long black and latte with a hit of caramel?” Dean asked. 

Ellen winked at him. “You got it.”

They were the only customers he saw that morning. 

 

When Castiel returned from work, he entered the apartment with a doomed step, heavy and final. 

Dean was seated at the tiny breakfast table, staring out of the window. He turned his head and looked at Castiel with a smile and a searching look that spoke more of his concern than hid it. 

Castiel set his satchel down on the couch as he always did. He approached but did not stand within reach.

“I found a place to live today.” He watched Dean’s face close off and his heart broke. 

“Yeah?” Dean stood slowly and put his coffee cup in the sink. “That’s good.”

Castiel nodded. “Thank you for everything, Dean. Truly. But I can’t impose on your hospitality any longer.” 

Dean’s abrupt movement upright and step forward had Castiel tilting his chin. He had to stand his ground. 

“You weren’t imposing.” Dean’s voice was suddenly hoarse, his eyes pained and Castiel felt like an asshole. But he couldn’t stay. Dean would just suffer because of him. 

“Nonetheless. We always knew this was temporary,” Castiel said softly, finally. 

Dean was silent, his hands visibly bunched in the pockets of his jeans where he had rammed them. He stepped back.

“Sure. Yeah.” Dean nodded. “Sure. When do you want to head off?” 

“Well, I figured I could just pack my stuff up now. I don’t have much. Charlie is happy to give me a lift.” Castiel couldn’t even manage a pacifying smile. ‘No NO NO no no No NO’ was hammering through his heart. “You have been very kind.”

“I thought we had this covered, Cas. You were always welcome.” Dean fidgeted for a moment. “Will you call? Drop by?” 

Castiel forced himself to look steadily into Dean’s gorgeous, beloved green eyes. “Perhaps it might be best if we cool it a bit. Maybe a good thing for everyone, don’t you think?”  

Castiel felt sick when Dean’s expression went blank, then raw with pain. “Sure. Whatever you want, Cas.” He headed for the door, only one stumble to indicate his sudden distraction. “I have to head out for a while. Close up behind you, okay?” 

“Sure.” Castiel nodded, and swallowed against the choking lump in his throat as Dean picked up his coat on the way out the door. It slammed a little hard behind him. 

Castiel wiped away the tears that tracked down his cheeks. 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

“It’s the week before Christmas, boy, what has you so down in the mouth?” Missouri asked, her voice sharp. 

“Not a thing, Missouri. What can I get you?” Dean seated Missouri with all the solicitousness he had always given. His pen hovered over his pad, waiting. 

Missouri glanced around the empty room. “Don’t you lie to me, boy.” She shook her head. “ I have heard what Novak has been spewing from his pulpit. Castigatin’ his flock against indulgences of the flesh.”

Dean asked desperately, “He hasn’t mentioned Cas, has he?”

“No.” Missouri was both mournful and relieved. “You kept him safe by keeping him here while you could.” 

Dean jerked upright and nodded slowly, his chin coming to rest low. “Okay. Good.” 

Missouri’s voice turned soft. “Your heart is so raw I can hear it cryin’ and I can hear the north wind callin’ for you, boy. It’s a mighty tempting sound. But there is a stronger noise clouding your mind I think.” 

Dean swallowed and stared fixedly at an ink line drawing on the wall. An old house climbing with ivy stared back. “It’s clouding, Missouri.”

“Then you beat back that north wind for now.” Missouri patted his arm. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Dean refused to take money for her tea. 

She left it anyway. 

 

Dean didn’t have the heart to close the door to the cafe. No one had been in since midday. It was six pm and it was cold. The fire in the back room had long since burned down with no one to enjoy it. Dean sat at a table out the front, sipping slowly from a cup of fresh coffee. 

“Well hey there, handsome.” Charlie’s voice startled him. 

His cup rattled on the table. “Charlie. Hi.” He swiped his hands down his thighs.

“For what it’s worth, I think it is an asshole thing Daddy Novak is doing.”

Dean scrubbed his face and in a weak moment allowed himself a frustrated groan. “This too will pass,” he muttered. 

“Yeah. Guy is an asshole. He is mostly pissed you took his boy away from him. He’s punishing you, because he can’t shout from the pulpit about his boy.” 

“Believe me, I know.” 

Charlie bit her lower lip. “He misses you.” 

Dean slumped back in his chair and took a long sip of his coffee. “Mm.” 

“He does.” Charlie insisted. “He’s been moping around the damn office for the past week. And with Christmas in a couple days he is even worse.” 

“He’s away from his family,” Dean said. “But I got Sammy flying back in Christmas Eve, so I guess I’m all booked up.” 

“And I’m heading out to spend it with my family. Are you sure you can’t…y’know…take him in?” 

“It’s not up to me.” Dean shrugged. “He’s the one who decided it was better if we give it a rest.” 

“It was bullshit.” Charlie sat down opposite Dean and clasped her hands together on the tabletop. “You know that, right?”

“Look, I’m not an idiot.” Dean sighed. “I get it. He’s still wrapped up in his family and when those morons threw a brick through the window, he freaked out. He had some notion that I would be safer without him here anymore.”

“Oh.” Charlie seemed disappointed. “Yes.” 

“Real life doesn’t work like that. These guys will keep hammering at me with or without him here.” Dean stood up and took his empty cup to the kitchen. Charlie followed him. 

“What are you going to do?” 

“Keep paying my insurance premiums.” Dean gave her a wry smile. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Charlie folded her arms over her chest. 

“We had the start of something, Charlie. Sure, it might have been good, but Cas made his decision.” 

“Well, damn. You sure you won’t go to him?” 

Dean ran his cup under the running water. “Nope.” 

“Stubborn.” 

“So my brother says.” 

“What if he comes to you?” 

“He won’t.” Dean set the cup on the draining board. “I have learned one thing about Cas; he is really, really good. Like down to the bones good. And if he thinks that he is doing the right thing by staying away, you can sure as hell bet that he will stay away.” 

Charlie sighed. “You are probably right.” 

 

Dean turned the lights out in his apartment and tucked himself into bed, leaving the twinkling lights of his Christmas tree sparkling in the window. 

And he didn’t hear the sound of someone breaking in downstairs.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel scrubbed his hands over his face. He was doing a shift in the Emergency Room at the Lawrence Memorial Hospital while they were short staffed in the run up to Christmas. In his blue scrubs and white coat, he stood at the nurses station filling out paperwork. 

“There you are, Ellen.” Castiel handed over the board. 

Ellen took it and stripped the paper from the clip. “Thank you, Doctor.” 

Castiel hesitated. “Are you mad at me?” 

Ellen looked up innocently. “Me? Why would I be mad?” 

“I know you like Dean.”

“He’s a sweet young man.” 

Castiel took a swift breath. “It was for the best.” 

Ellen stood up abruptly. “You keep telling yourself that, Doctor.” 

The phone rang between them as their eyes clashed. Ellen reached down. “Lawrence Memorial.” 

She listened for several long moments and glanced at Castiel, her eyes wide and panicked. “What? Say that again?” 

“What is it?” Castiel tilted his head in query. 

“Okay. Yes. Doc Novak is on duty. I will let him know.” She set down the phone. “Oh, Castiel.” She held out her hand. He took it, worry clouding his expression. 

“What’s going on, Ellen?” 

“Castiel, it’s Dean.” 

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “What about him? Did he have an accident in his kitchen?” 

“No. Listen to me.” Ellen turned her head toward the main doors. The sounds of sirens were growing audible. “There was a fire…” 

The rest of the night was a nightmare for Castiel. 

Dean had some superficial burns, one bad one on his arm, and smoke inhalation damage. He was barely breathing on the way in the ambulance, and now he lay unconscious in ICU. He would have some bad scarring and his face remained flushed with scalding. 

By the time Castiel had him settled, he was off shift. But he didn’t leave. He made the call to Sam. That heartbreaking, horrible call where Sam was tired and scared. And then he went to sit beside Dean. 

 

Garth Fitzgerald, one of the local cops, came into the room at nine the next morning. He hesitated, seeing Castiel in limp, creased scrubs slumped in a chair beside the hospital bed, his hand loosely linked with Dean’s where it lay boneless and patchy red on the white sheets. 

“Ahem,” Garth coughed.

Castiel startled awake. He blinked sleepily at the officer and cricked his neck. 

“Castiel?” Garth’s face warped into a rictus of concern, his beaky nose rendering the entire effect ridiculous. But he was an old friend of Cas’s from high school, and he could see sincerity in the man’s open, trusting gaze. “Hey, buddy.” 

“Garth.” Castiel rasped, knuckling his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” 

“Just came from the scene of the fire.” Garth jerked a chin at Dean. “Meant to come interview, Mister Winchester. How’s he doin’?” 

“Hasn’t woken up yet.” Castiel glanced at the monitors hooked up to Dean’s vitals. “Doing okay though. What happened?” 

“Looks like someone busted in. Spray painted the walls of the cafe with some…particularly nasty language, then set a fire in the kitchen.” 

“Was there much damage?” 

“Upstairs is all good, just smoke damage. Kitchen is gutted real bad. The main room seems okay but the whole placed is messed up with water and smoke.” Garth squinched his face as he studied the unconscious Dean. “Will he be awake soon?” 

“Hard to tell.” Castiel gripped Dean’s hand tighter, a band in his chest squeezing his heart. It could have been so much worse. “How was he found?” 

“The firies pulled him out of the front room. He almost got to the front door. They busted in the window and pulled him out before piling water in there.” 

“So he nearly didn’t make it.” Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. “I take it the spray paint referred to Dean’s sexuality.” 

“Yep.” Garth’s honest face flushed a little. 

Castiel nodded slowly. “I see.” He rose to his feet them. “Okay. Well, I have to go off shift. Someone will let you know when he wakes up.” 

“You okay, buddy?” Garth peered into his serene face.

“I’m sure I will be.” 

 

When Dean finally woke his room was quiet and the wash of faintly chemical tasting air filled his nose and mouth. A peg clamped down on his forefinger and when he woke, he shifted and the machine beeped it’s protest. He was tucked under blankets and he was aware of pain, bone deep pain in his arm.

He panicked, reaching up to yank the mask off, with fingers that felt too thick, too clumsy.

A soothing hand closed over his, and it took him a moment to recognise the face hovering above his. 

“Cas?” he gasped. 

“It’s alright.” Castiel’s voice was gentle, a comforting rumble. 

“Hurts.” 

“I know.” 

Dean felt a fingertips trace into his hair, the gesture making him still his struggles. 

“It’s alright. I got you, Dean. I got you.” 

Dean grasped Castiel’s arm, closing his eyes as he dizzily tried to regain his bearings. 

“Cas…” 

“I’m here. I’m right here. Slow your breathing.” 

He felt the touch of lips upon his brow and he opened his eyes. He stared at Castiel mutely, the ache in his chest and throat making speech beyond a few sounds sheer agony. 

“You have smoke inhalation damage and the oxygen is helping with that. You have a few burns, and we are treating them carefully.” Castiel slid his thumb over Dean’s brow, wiping away a tear that had gathered at the corner of his eye and was trailing down. “You have been asleep a couple days. But you are alive.” 

“Café?” 

“It’s still standing. Smoke and water damage mostly. The kitchen is gutted though.”

Dean’s eyes closed. 

“The police are investigating. One of my friends. Garth. He’s a good guy. When you are up for it, he wants to talk to you.” 

Dean didn’t respond. 

“Everyone has been here asking after you. Bobby, Missouri, Gabe. Ellen is in here every couple of hours. Charlie too. Gilda brought some chocolates, but I think Gabe might have eaten half of them.” 

Dean frowned and opened his eyes. Castiel studied his expression carefully, and smiled slightly. “You are loved here, Dean.” He lifted the hand that had Dean’s clasped in his and brushed his lips over the knuckles. “Forgive me for being a moron?” 

Dean’s head moved on the pillow, an emphatic nod. 

“Thank god.” Castiel breathed. 

 

Several days later, Dean got out of the Impala with the help of Castiel, his right arm heavily bandaged. He stared at the sight of the front door, taped over with police tape, the front window boarded up, and hesitated. Smoke scorched the blue of the paint work. 

“You okay to do this?” Castiel picked up Dean’s bag from the back seat of the Impala.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Dean reached out, and Castiel easily linked his hand with Dean’s. 

Despite his assurance, Dean hesitated at the door, his palm splayed on the wood. Castiel pressed himself close and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “Go on.” 

Dean pushed open the door, peering into the gloom of the Celeste. He reached over and flicked on the light. The room bathed bright gold quite suddenly. 

It was … it was… perfect. Dean’s mouth opened in shock. “What?” His fingertips trailed over a table surface. He looked back at Castiel who smiled up at him. “I thought you said…” 

“I told you, Dean Winchester, you are loved.” 

“Aww hell, don’t tell me you two are gonna start makin’ out. If that’s the case, I’m out of here.” Bobby Singer grumbled as he exited the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag. 

“Oh stop it.” Ellen slapped Bobby on the back of his shoulder as she exited the kitchen behind him. “Well, it seems like everything is almost good to go back there.” 

Dean was speechless. There was still the faintest scent of smoke, but it was barely detectable. A new coat of paint was on all the walls. The floor had been cleaned and polished. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“This is thanks to your boyfriend there.” Bobby pointed a spanner at Castiel. 

Castiel cleared his throat, blushing furiously.

“Where you want me to put this, Mister Singer?” Garth ambled in, his arms full of a huge cardboard box. 

“Straight in the kitchen.” 

“The insurance company have only just done their assessment,” Dean protested. “How on earth…what did you do?” He gripped on to Castiel’s arm. 

“Oh, you shoulda seen it.” Garth headed back into the main room. “Cas there marched inta his daddy’s church service and stood up there and gave him a piece of his mind over his message of hate. It weren’t no secret that Gerald Berlin torched this place, takin’ the message from the pulpit a little to heart. I had the pleasure of arrestin’ that asshole and it was mighty satisfyin’.” 

“Garth…” Castiel murmured, trying to stop the story. 

“C’mon, your boy needs to know how much he has come to mean to the town. Only been here a few months and things have changed for the better.” Garth insisted. “Right?” He looked at Ellen and Bobby for their confirmation. 

“That’s right.” Missouri came from upstairs. “The rest of the crew should be finishing up there. New coats of paint. I’m afraid the curtains still have to be rehung, they are all being cleaned.” She propped her hands on her hips. “Castiel, I’m proud as hell of you, boy. Standing up like that in front of everyone. Most of the older folks have known you since you were a young ‘un.”

“Thought Dad was gonna pop a blood vessel.” Gabe startled them by speaking from the doorway. “Best day ever. When you came out in front of him and all of his folks, I have never been prouder.” He reached up and ruffled his little brother’s hair.

Castiel flushed again and tried, unsuccessfully, to plaster down the strands. 

“When people got some home truths tossed their way, they stood up and walked right on out of the church. Only a handful of diehards left after that. Best day ever.” Gabe grinned. “Missouri there got everyone sorted and donations just started coming in. So…” He waved his hands around. “…Here it is.” He patted Dean carefully on the shoulder. “Got you an early Christmas present too, Dean-o.” He pointed at the doorway and the tall guy hovering there, bag on his shoulder and a grin plastered on his face. 

“Sam! You aren’t meant to be here until Christmas Eve.” Dean swallowed hard, eyes wide, tears welling. 

“I ignored you, dumbass. Gabe picked me up from the airport.” Sam sauntered in, dumped his back and wrapped his brother in a hug. 

“Mrf…” Dean managed before he was crushed against his brother’s solid chest.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam greeted Castiel over Dean’s head with a warm smile.

“Hello, Sam.” Castiel smiled in return. 

Gabe stood beside his brother and nudged him, hip and shoulder. 

“Right. Well…” Bobby cleared his throat. “Enough of all this emotional shit. I’m just gonna install the microwave.” 

“Thank you, everyone. I don’t know what to say,” Dean managed softly. “I love all of you. Thank you.” 

 

Much later, after Charlie, the last to arrive with several bags full of food for the Winchester boys, had gone, Castiel and Dean sat together on the couch while Sam showered. Dean was exhausted, leaning his head tiredly on the couch back. 

He wouldn’t let Castiel go though. 

“You are awesome, Cas,” he murmured softly. 

Castiel didn’t reply, he just kissed Dean’s knuckles briefly, interlinking their fingers tightly. Their eyes met and gazes held. Radiant blue studied olive green, and gently, so gently, their lips met, slanted over the other and tasted deep. 

Dean traced the seam of Castiel’s mouth with his tongue, the scrape of his teeth a shuddering contrast. 

“I should go home,” Castiel murmured. “And you need rest.” 

The hand Dean had splayed over Castiel’s hip, tightened. “Please stay.”

Castiel’s fingertips trailed over Dean’s cheek. “I need to tell you about…before. About why I have resisted being more intimate with you.” 

“Cas, I’m okay with whatever you want. I hope you know that,” Dean said hurriedly. “I’m not asking for…”

Castiel smiled as he pressed his fingertips over Dean’s lips. “I know. But I want to.”

Dean settled back, worry etching a frown on his brow. 

“I always knew I was gay. For as long as I could remember. Gabe was the first in the family to figure it out, and he always kept my secret. Our father would punish us when we were badly behaved.” 

Dean’s chin jerked, but he held his silence. In reply he merely reached out for Castiel’s hand. 

“When I went to college, I dated. And I had a boyfriend. He was a decent, kind person, who didn’t truly understand who I was. Hell, I was barely who I was back then. I leapt in too deep, too fast and I thought myself in love with him.” Castiel shook his head slowly. “I was so foolish.” 

Dean merely raised Castiel’s hand to his lips and brushed his lips over the knuckles. 

Castiel chewed hard on his lower lip. “I was with him for just over two years. We had even talked future.” 

“What happened?” Dean asked quietly. 

“Dad came to visit after my graduation ceremony. Unexpectedly. Zeke answered the door in his boxer shorts.” Castiel huffed a soft sound and shook his head. 

Dean winced.

“Yeah.” Castiel sighed. “Zeke broke up with me after that. He wasn’t ready to deal with an ex-altar boy with a strict father. I was dragged back to Lawrence with Michael as my guard and Father as my jailor.” 

“Have you ever seen Zeke again?” Dean asked hesitantly. 

Castiel leaned into Dean then, his body emanating warmth, his voice a quiet rumble. “Once. And we said our farewells, I promise I was content with it.” He sighed. “But living in Lawrence, I listened to my father’s rhetoric moreso than my own heart. My mother passed away and I stayed. And it just became easier to cultivate the reputation my father appropriated for me - someone who was cold and standoffish. Until I met you, I didn’t want more. And you are so…warm…and beautiful…and here…I feel the want to have more for the first time in a very, very long time.” 

Dean tucked his brow against the curve of Castiel’s neck, his lips against his shoulder. Castiel closed his eyes. Neither spoke.

 

Dean slid into his bed and lay curled over on his side, Castiel behind him, arms folding over his chest and holding him close. Dean finally slept, feeling safe. 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas_

_Let your heart be light_

 

Castiel lifted his head from his pillow and realised he was alone in Dean’s bed. He peered at the time. Just before midnight. Almost Christmas Day. He could hear the husky voice coming from the…was it downstairs? He clambered out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants to cover his nakedness and, on bare feet, he padded to the door. 

His fingertips brushed the wall as he headed downstairs. 

 

_From now on our troubles will be out of sight_

 

Castiel stepped into the hallway between the front and back rooms of the cafe. The singing was definitely coming from the kitchen.  

 

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas_

 

His mouth dropped open at the sight of Dean Winchester, singing as he stirred a bowl of gloppy mix. There was the smell of some kind of baked goods that wafted around the room, spiced and warm. 

Dean was beautiful, soft grey lounge pants and a white sleep shirt hugged his body. His hair was a rare, rumpled mess.

 

_Make the Yuletide gay_

_From now on our troubles will be miles away_

 

Dean dropped spoonfuls of the mix he had made onto large cookie sheets. He licked his thumb, humming, and started singing again as he opened the oven door, sliding the sheet in. Castiel’s stomach swooped low as he watched Dean’s easy movements.

 

_Here we are as in olden days_

_Happy golden days of yore_

 

A little soft shoe routine punctuated Dean’s words, and he picked up the bowl, did a turn, dipping and swaying as though he were dancing with an invisible partner. Castiel felt a curl of want warm his soul. Oh, how he wanted this man, with this breath, and the next one, and all the others to come.

 

_Loving friends who are dear to us_

_Gather near to us once more_

 

Dean stilled as green eyes met blue. His voice trailed off and a flush coloured his cheek. 

“Hey, Cas. Uhhh… I was just…” He gestured with a hand, before swiping down his flour dusted chest. 

“You were singing. I didn’t know you could sing.” Castiel approached. “And you are baking.” 

“Yeah. Christmas cookies.” 

“I see. Why are Christmas cookies different to other cookies?”

Dean looked puzzled. “Well, I suppose because they are made at Christmas. They get decorated, and you eat them Christmas morning. Mom used to make them, before…well…just before. She would let me help decorate them Christmas eve.”

“That is a nice tradition. Is it your mother’s recipe?” 

Dean nodded. 

“Your voice is lovely, Dean.” Castiel watched him, almost unblinking. “That song you were singing made me feel sad though.” 

Dean set the bowl he was carrying into the sink, and turned on the tap. His voice was a little rough as he spoke, staring down into the swirl of water. “Sometimes I feel sad singing it.” 

“Why?” The pain radiating from Dean made his chest hurt. Castiel splayed his palms on Dean’s back, letting him know he was there. 

Dean turned and folded Castiel into his arms. He rested his forehead on Castiel’s solid shoulder. His voice was a low rumble in his chest. “I guess I remember the people I won’t get to have Christmas with again. Mom. Dad.”

“I’m so sorry.” Castiel turned his head and kissed Dean gently, just below his ear. “I know it is not the same, but I’m here. And so is Sam.” 

“It means a lot, Cas.” A bell dinged. “Want to help me decorate them?” 

“I don’t know how to do that.” 

Regretfully, Castiel stepped out of Dean’s embrace, letting Dean step to the oven.

“C’mon, I will show you.” Dean slid the tray of cookies from the oven, leaving the second tray to bake. 

 

A few minutes later, Castiel was seated at the counter busily applying tiny silvery balls to a set of cookies he had iced green. Icing was smeared across his cheek. Dean withdrew the second sheet of cookies from the oven, and slid them onto the cooling racks. He looked at the intense concentration on his angel’s face and grinned. 

Castiel studied his creations despondently. “These don’t look like yours, Dean. I don’t think I’m very good at this.” 

Dean silently reached out, picked up one of the lumpily iced cookies, and the mysterious swirl of decorations that Castiel had applied in a haphazard manner. They looked terrible. 

“It’s beautiful.” Dean cracked one of the cookies in half, he held it out to Cas. 

Castiel reached out and took the cookie half. He popped it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed as he watched Dean devour the second half. His eyes met Dean’s again. Dean reached out and brushed his thumb over the icing smear on Castiel’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Castiel Novak.” 

Castiel blinked at him with wide blue eyes, one of his rare, slow smiles curving his lips. “Merry Christmas, Dean Winchester.” 

“I’m glad you are here.” 

“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

“I love you, Cas.” Dean’s smile held all the warmth of the cookie he had just eaten, and when he cupped his hands around Castiel’s face and leaned down, their lips just brushing. Castiel’s breath sighed out with relief. 

Dean’s tongue was rich with spices and fresh ginger. It was deliciously more-ish and Castiel wanted it. His hands were wrapped in Dean’s t shirt, pulling him close. He stopped kissing Dean long enough to murmur, “I’m in love with you too.”  

When they broke apart, Dean’s voice was a rough whisper. “No regrets?” 

“None.” Castiel quirked his lips in a faint smile. “And these…” He picked up another of the cookies. This one a jauntily purple attired Santa. “These are my favourite cookies.”  

 

That night, the clever North wind spoke to Dean of towns still to be visited, of people who needed a little push here, a little nudge there. But he closed the windows against the call and slipped beneath the blankets, curving up against the naked warmth of his gently snoring boyfriend. 

 

When summer came to Lawrence, there was a new breeze from the south, warm and welcoming, and with it came hope, as, two men exchanged vows, promising to love and respect each other before all their friends. Oddly, badly decorated Christmas cookies sat on the dessert table.

 


End file.
